Separated and Desperate
by flamesofunknown
Summary: Ed and Roy had been pitched into current day London, separated and beside two people who resembled the one they loved, but only in intial first glances. With thier new companion, the two search to find each other, and help solve a mystery that London has enshrouded in mist. Johnlock and RoyEd. M for mature themes. RxR?


**Originally, I offered this fic up to the writer on here named BeautifulFiction as a collaboration fic. She declined even though she thinks it's an awesome idea, but she has her projects going on and she feels she wouldn't do it justice. So, I'm taking it over myself. This is the first time ever I've written for BBC's Sherlock. I hope the characters are okay though. Bear with me! I know my FMA muse is really strong. Hope you guys enjoy. I tried to make my writing style better, and a lot more detailed than my old stuff that I find really crappy.**

**Her fic, Saffron Soul (which has 1K+ reviews right now) is being made into a manga adaption by yours truly. I'm enjoying the work, even though it's hard going, but it's fun and my style's improved a lot already. **

**Sorry for the long AN.**

**Enjoy this awkward crossover.**

**-flamesofunknown.**

**Chapter One**

_I Call This Bullshit._

Edward Elric had thought his last moments would be left in agony as the last few moments of brilliant blue, almost cyan light illuminated the area. At least he had seen Al being put back together in exchange for his mind, body and soul. He was sent back safely to Ed's relief.

He hadn't expected to be here. This was _not_ on his things- I- expected- after -the- Gate's- final-judgement- of- my- actions list.

Neither was being dumped in an unknown place in his old ensemble, which he was _not_ wearing before this had happened. And that unknown place was nowhere in Amestris, or even close to his home country. He pushed himself up into a kneeling postion.

He was suddenly aware of another person, and a glimpse upwards that Ed looked was of black hair on a man who stood taller than himself (which was a lot of people, not that the former Fullmetal Alchemist would admit to anyone) and his heart gave a mournful pang.

It wasn't _him _though.

The man himself was almost as tall as the freak of nature that was Armstrong. Well, from where Ed was kneeling, and his face was half hidden by scarves and coats it appeared. His cheekbones were high and his face a long, paper-pale shape. His tone was probably paler than the asshole's (who lost half of his body to the Philosopher's Stone in Liore...) and his lips were thin. The colour of his eyes were too light to even match the cool black, the one he missed so very much.

Those eyes, too light for Ed's taste, were wide with shock at the former alchemist's appearance. It was that of a child's. One who had been caught by a parent doing something he should not have been doing.

It was very strange to see such a face appear on such an adult-looking face. It really was out of place to be there.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" He blinked as the other spoke.

He really wished to see the man who made his pulse jump in a tribal drumbeat that was all the right and wrong ways.

Roy wasn't entirely sure of when exactly he had lost consciousness in that place, but it never came to him before that moment that he was dead.

Even then, in his... one glance down provided all that he needed to know about his current shape... ghost-like manner, pain ached through torn and twisted muscles. He'd been cut and it felt like he'd been sawed in half completely. Again, another look down proved his legs hadn't been hewn off.

He blinked as he stared around the plane he was in, a foggy saffron mist drifting around, oozing almost. It was empty except for him and... The looming dark doors of something.

The Elrics had spoken of a Gate in alchemy before. A huge _thing_ that held the Truth behind heavy oak doors. Well. Fuck.

Roy Mustang wasn't one to swear much. But when he did...

"I'm so fucking screwed right now!" He muttered.

It was when he really felt the need. Like Havoc and his cigarettes. Even though his smoking was a habit and he was hooked on the nicotine in the small white rolled drug.

_Another alchemist has come! Come, come... _He heard whispers, like children telling and repeating a secret. Even though the thing whispering was no where near a child. _Come to pass through us! Too bad he's dead. Nothing to take. He's given his life. Equal Exchange... What to give, give, give? The alchemist who once had metal limbs has already passed through. He's done that twice... twice... twice! Let's see him go through!_

_Through! _It agreed.

Roy's blood ran cold as the heavy doors slowly eased open with a creak. _He's already dead. Nothing can go wrong. No. Nothing. Nothing. Goodbye, Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist. Go, go, go. The other world awaits. Waiting. Waiting for something._

Roy's eyes were wide, his feet frozen in place as black hands extended and wrapped around his limbs. He was tugged and pulled, without a single world or murmur from his own lips or the Gate. The creaking of the doors' hinges was heard as the Gate slammed shut behind him.

Something didn't feel right once he was on solid ground again. The fabric encasing his arms, wrapping around pale arms, felt too foreign. It wasn't the smooth, high-quality material of his suit, or the soft lining of the cerulean uniform he had come to be used to. Neither was the cold metal bar, warmed slightly by his skin. He looked at the sweater he was dressed in, a hood hanging off the back, cords down the sides. He knew there was a t-shirt underneath it. His home's name was written up his left arm in white block lettering. He felt denim wrapping snug around his long legs. They weren't too cumbersome on his body, just enough that he towered over that god damned former subordinate of his. The one that made his temper and restraint boil.

He stood on a strange pathway, the sounds of life writhing around him feeling too alien for his tastes. Roy was looking over a river somewhere, a large Ferris wheel down the river a ways and a little past that was a building that reminded him of Central Headquarters. It was an almost comforting sight. The water was mostly calm.

A sudden clearing of a throat made him turn, shifting his vision over to an average height blond. The potentiality of it being Edward made his heart do a little pitter before he realized it wasn't him. The blond was too tall to be him, looked a little older than himself, possibly closer to his forties. His eyes were blue, not the stunning gold he loved.

The way he stood, formally and rigid, his weight leaning on one side, gave the experianced soldier some clues about the other man nearby. Roy forced his body to move, raising a hand up.

"Hello, I'm a newcomer to the area." He gave him a light smile. "I'm not really sure about anything, or if you can even understand what I'm saying... But I'm Roy Mustang."

The soldier, Roy guessed, raised his hand, and tentatively grasping it with his own, eyes shifting over Roy's face. "John Watson."

"You look like a soldier." Roy blinked, looking at John. "The way you stand, the way you hold yourself. I know the signs."

"You got that right. Just like him." He sighed, looking away for a brief second, distracted. "And I guess you are one yourself. Do you mind... Where did you fight? It was Afghanistan for me."

Roy frowned. He'd never heard of a place like that. He didn't know anything of this place, and how could he come up with a war he'd fought in if he never knew any recent history at all?! "Ishbal. An uprising in Central." He half-hoped this was on his own planet.

The look John gave him made his stomach sink. "Ishbal? I've never heard of any place like that."

"As I said, I'm a newcomer to the area. I'm not even from this world. And you sound funny." Roy blurted.

Sherlock's eyes were wide as he stared down at this strange boy. Everything was strange about him, the way he stood, the way he looked. Those eyes were like burning pools of molten gold, cool enough to touch. Too exotic. He did not know of any place that could produce such a strange specimen. Oh, Mycroft would have a good laugh about this. The great Sherlock Holmes being stumped for once.

He'd never even noticed that the blond had appeared. It startled him.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" He asked. The smaller man stood, looking about his mid-teens. He looked like a martial artist, judging by the way he held his body unconsciously, and he had something wrong with his right arm and left leg, he was drawing a blank on him for quite a few things.

For the second time in his life, he couldn't read the history of this person. Intriguing.

"Oh, Edward... Elric." He looked away. Sherlock had never heard of any Edward Elrics around. Edward was a name that was fairly common, but Elric? That was a last name he'd never heard.

The teen pulled a braid from behind his head, running his white gloved fingers through the gleaming strands of hair. Sherlock noted a splotch of blood in the hair and Edward tutted, trying to clean out the blood before anyone else saw. Too bad it was too late for him. Sherlock had seen.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock inquired, shifting to look at the strange teen. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck, slightly nervous that he might run off to the press, and whoops, there goes the fact he's been in hiding after his faked suicide. Well, suicide to those who weren't in on it, like his brother or... John. Sherlock promised to return to John's side and apologize soon enough.

Edward nodded. "More or less. I'm just sore in a couple places. Especially my chest. Feels like I was hit right through it..."

Sherlock blinked a few times before looking away. "What's your name anyways?" He heard Edward ask.

Since the kid had been mostly honest with him, he thought he'd do the same. "Sherlock Holmes."

Ed looked away. "I'm good at keeping secrets, and kinda when someone has secrets they don't want to tell. I know." He tugged at his right sleeve, pulling it back and revealing metal. Sherlock let out a soft gasp of surprise as he got a clue on him slightly, but was really unable to place it. It threw him off so much.

_Taboo? _

Ed sighed. "As I said, I think you want to keep something secret. You can see that is the same way for me too."

Sherlock blinked. Should I be telling a kid secrets? He asked himself. He gave a quick glance in Edward's direction and saw the look of more maturity than his age must actually be sitting in deep pools of molten gold. "I'm supposed to be dead."

"Oh, cool. I'm also supposed to be dead. Twice. But I ended up here." Ed looked out over the railing by the overhang they were standing on. Sherlock didn't inquire.

"Any idea what you want to do now?"

"I'm pretty sure an old friend of mine is somewhere on this world. Somewhere. I'd like to try and find him. I feel he's somewhere in this city."

"Would you prefer to shadow myself?"

"What do I have to lose? If you'll have a kid following you who knows how to fight. Might be handy."

"I'm not an old man."

"You're probably my friend's age- or older."

"Oh, do shut up."

John stared at this man. He sized him up. He was a soldier. There was every sign he knew of and could recognise as a soldier. But Ishbal? That was a place he had never heard of before. Never ever.

"Ishbal?"

"As I said, I'm not from here. And I _know_ there is another somewhere like me. Somewhere in this strange world that's too forward in time for my liking. What year is it?" Roy Mustang demanded from the other soldier in front of him.

John blinked and stuttered his reply: "2012, Roy, why?"

"Shit!" He swore, and the sudden curse had the ex-military doctor blink in brief surprise. "Over ninety years?"

"Ninety?" John blinked in surprise.

"It's why everything here is so _new_ to me. It's because I'm not in _my _time period. Mine is the 1910's. It's about 1915 there. If I was the proper age I would be by aging, I'd be over a hundred!" It was John's turn to be white with pure shock.

"Are you some kind of sorceror?" John inquired from the should-be-over-triple-digit-not-double-aged man.

"Alchemist. It's close enough though." Roy shrugged.

Now this puzzled John even more so. "I guess you're going to need a place to stay until you get on your feet. I've got room, if you don't mind a cluttered flat."

"Flat?" Roy blinked, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

"Apartment." John explained quickly. "You'll pick up the language quickly here, or... you'll get confused, somewhat, you being behind several years..." He shrugged, allowing Roy to catch his drift.

Roy nodded. "Yeah, I'm gonna need somewhere to hole up for a little, seeing as I really am in a world where I do not know how to get around, hell, I'm probably going to have to take a driver's course again to learn how to drive here on your roads and how to operate your autos." John nodded.

"I'll let you stay at my place, I used to share it with a mate, but I can't seem to be able to move out after his death..." _Sherlock_... John thought, his heart giving a heavy pang. He had some affection for him, and not just their friendship either, something deeper... "But there's room, and another bedroom for you. Just try not to pick anyone up while I'm at home. I'll give you a key to get it." He sized the other man up. "And we're going to have to get you paperwork done so you're official here and so you can actually get a job..." He found himself rambling a bit too much. He rolled his shoulders before stretching his injured leg.

"Hurt your leg in the war you fought in?" Roy asked, his eyes fixed on the leg.

"Yeah." John sighed, turning. "Come on. Might as well get back to where I live."

"Okay." Roy followed him, the man almost as tall as Sherlock had stood followed him. It was comforting.

Too bad it probably wasn't going to last.

_And this is the first chapter of a few good chapters. I'm trying to get my writing longer and more descriptive. :D _

_Hit the button below please! :D_


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